


The Thought That Counts

by Berty



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Birthday Presents, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-19
Updated: 2007-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berty/pseuds/Berty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel's never been a birthday kind of guy. Jack gets that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thought That Counts

Daniel has never been a birthday kind of guy.

As hard as he tries, he can't recall birthdays spent with his parents, a fact which makes him feel sad and guilty. He does recall birthdays with his various foster parents, but those celebrations always held a tinge of desperation, of people trying too hard to make him happy – people who didn't really have a clue what it would take to make the introspective, quiet little boy they cared for break out of his polite studiousness and interact with them.

It got better at college, and he remembers getting quite comprehensively drunk on occasion, but then it was always him that was trying too hard – to conform, to have fun, to be liked. And once he'd reached maturity it was more often the case that he only remembered his birthday if someone else reminded him and maybe took him to dinner. Or he'd realise a few days after the event, when he'd finished his latest piece of research and finally come up for air.

Since he's joined the SGC it's become increasingly less important a date. Missions don't take personal circumstances into account and he spent his first three birthdays, after leaving Abydos, off-world with Sam, Teal'c and Jack with their brief 'Happy Birthday, Daniel's to remind him over early morning coffee and MREs.

Jack's always had a card for him – he particularly favours ones with humorous animals on. And he's always had a small gift stashed away in his pack, that he presents Daniel with when the others aren't around - a bar of chocolate, a yo-yo, a Calvin And Hobbes book – nothing big or showy or significant. And that's how Daniel likes it.

He's managed to leave the mountain without a fuss today. Sam's called from Nevada, Teal'c's left him a heartfelt, if rather formal, note, and Cameron's brought him a piece of cake from the commissary, then proceeded to sit on the edge of his desk and eat it for him too.

This year is different, Daniel thinks, as he pulls into his drive, because this is the first year that Jack isn't here to help him not-celebrate. And for the first time, Daniel feels the loss of a birthday tradition that he's come to rely on; Jack, giving him the smile that says "I know what day it is, but I'm not gonna make a big deal of it because I know you hate it."

It's stupid, but Daniel has missed that today.

Jack has sent a card – internal mail. This year it's a tasteless joke and a picture of a giraffe with stuck-on, googly eyes, which Daniel just _knows_ Jack's laughed himself sick over. It isn't like he's forgotten or anything. But as Daniel lets himself into his dark house, kicks off his shoes and snaps on a lamp, he feels like he's somehow missed out.

He throws his jacket and keys onto a chair and heads for the refrigerator, but his phone rings. He glances at his watch and smiles as he answers it.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hey, Jack," Daniel replies, trying to squash the sudden, ridiculous happiness he feels.

"Can I say it?"

"Jaaack."

"Can I?"

"If you feel you have to, but be quick because in eleven minutes you'll be too late."

"You been out par-tay-ing?" Jack drawls.

"Yeah. We took in a strip club, drank our body-weight in beer and all had matching heart tattoos done," Daniel says, dropping back onto his couch.

"Cool. Where is it? Can I see it?"

"Yep."

A pause.

"Really?"

"No."

Jack laughs, an easy sound that makes something tighten in Daniel's chest.

"Thanks for the card," he adds. It buys him some time to swallow and get a grip. "Never had a giraffe before."

"Well, nothing says I love you like a cartoon giraffe with moving eyes," Jack murmurs.

And _damnit_ , that isn't fair. The drowning feeling in Daniel's chest spreads up into his throat and down into his belly.

"Happy Birthday, Daniel."

This isn't _fair_.

This is over.

They've both agreed. They've done the sensible thing. The only thing they _could_ have done. They've laughed, hugged and wished each other well because they've been certain it could never be more than casual. Because Jack's in Washington, and Daniel is everywhere but. Because there's love and there's _love_ , and both of them have the first kind in abundance, and neither of them have wanted the second. It's too hard.

Eyes open – they've both said it. They've done this with their eyes open. And sure, they've had their ups and downs, but they've always stayed friends. And when Daniel realised that Jack was more to him than their arrangement allowed for, he kept his mouth shut and his head down. And if he had suspicions that Jack felt the same way, he never pushed. He never said a word.

Because.

It's too hard.

But not as hard as letting it slip away, yet that's what they've done. With smiles. With hugs.

Too complicated. Too much. Too hard.

And now, too late.

"How's Washington?" Daniel asks, pushing through the thickness in his throat.

"I've got you something."

"Jack."

"It's small. Cost me less than two bucks."

"Jack."

"Want it?"

Daniel sighs. "What is it?"

"Checked your mail yet?"

Daniel gets up and walks over to the letters on the doormat, and immediately sees the one he wants. An envelope, plain save for his name in Jack's scrawl. The thing folds in half as he picks it up. "What is it?"

Daniel can hear Jack breathing, so he knows he hasn't been cut off. He opens the envelope one handed and a simple, silver key slips into his palm.

"Just say if it's no. I'll go," Jack says softly.

Daniel turns the envelope over again. Just his name. No postage. No zip code.

"Where are you?" But he already knows.

"Yes or no, Daniel?"

He puts down the phone and opens the door.

 

Fin.


End file.
